In the grand hall of the Ravalos Estate, deep within the neighboring territory of Grafen, the atmosphere was tense. Lord Hektor Ravalos, a man of considerable influence and ambition, sat at the head of a long, ornate table. His sharp features were partially hidden in the shadows, his eyes glinting with a mix of cunning and frustration. Before him stood three figures, shrouded in dark cloaks, their faces obscured by the hoods they wore.
"Grafen…" Hektor muttered, his voice laced with disdain as he drummed his fingers on the table. "It's infuriating, the speed at which that backwater city has recovered. The reports say it was in ruins, ravaged by goblins and on the brink of collapse, yet now, it flourishes more than ever."